Alive
by LethalCrown
Summary: Amy and Dan are running from Pierce's Tomas'd agents when someone saves them. Has a lot of OCs. May include Jake/Amy eventually. T because it may get violent, there is poison, guns, and an aggressive cat. That was not a joke. By the way, there will be many cats in this story so if you have read Is Life Worth Living, you will know. IF U DO NOT LIKE CATS, better not read.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so I've decided that I am just going to start the four fanfiction long story ideas I have so that I can just update when inspiration strikes. There will definitely be one-shots on various stories of mine explaining all of my OCs and their backstories eventually. My four stories are all going to be in different categories, (Loom, 39 clues, Avengers, and Percy Jackson), and I will try to update one a week, which will probably be the one that hasn't been updated longest.**

**Without further ado, I am presenting Alive, which takes place in the third series without any other cahills or Atticus and Jake helping Amy and Dan. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

Chapter one: On the run, saved by a…cat?

Amy ran, trying to throw the huge men off her trail. She wove into an alleyway, her brother alongside her, followed by Pierce's huge, burly enhanced men. Her heart stopped. This alley was a dead end. She and Dan backed up against the wall as they cornered them. She prayed desperately for a miracle, anything that could save them. Any of the other Cahills that were in the area.

"Don't think anyone is going to save you, kiddies, we had to take care of that little team that was helping you." The man spoke, grinning grotesquely. "And by take care of, I mean kill."

Amy's heart stopped. A well trained unit of Madrigals had been protecting them, and the man was not lying when he said he had killed them. More deaths because of me, she thought. "Look, it doesn't have to be this way!" she spoke frantically.

"But it does, girlie," the man said, drawing a long knife from a sheath at his side. "You ticked off the wrong people. If you play with fire, you get burned."

Amy tried desperately to think of something. Her brother looked up at her, a pleading question in his jade eyes. She had nothing that might get them out of this. The man in front of them had a knife and was leisurely striding towards them. Five other men, just as muscled as this one, were hanging back in the shadows, high powered machine guns on and trained on them, just in case they tried to make a move. The rain was pelting down, the night was frigid, and the alley had no exits. They were trapped. No supplies. No backup. No help.

"We'll give you what you want," Dan pleaded. "Just let us go."

The man laughed. "Unfortunately for you, what we want is you, dead. Unfortunately for you, our boss doesn't want you around. He doesn't need you, or information from you, or anything. All he needs is you dead. No money, no desperate cries for help. You are children. You should not have been a part of this. Now, you pay. With your lives."

The man came on faster, almost to them, when a clear voice rang through the deserted alleyway.

"Stop, or you die. Call your men off, or you all die. Harm one of the children, and you all die in the most painful way I can think of, which at the moment is flaying you alive, poisoning you, and feeding your liver to Mozart. Although, there was this type of execution I read up on Wikipedia called the Blood Eagle torture."

Amy and Dan looked up, shocked. Was this their miracle? But they didn't recognize the voice, and they could recognize most of the Madrigals who might have come to their aid. They could just make out a shadowy cloaked figure on the roof, holding something which was possibly a gun.

The man stopped, puzzled. "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" the figure mused. "Interesting question. Do you want to know my name, who my parents and family are, or who I am? Because those are all very different questions."

"All of those," the man said. "Then we can talk."

"Very well," The girl said-they could see now that she was a girl-and jumped down to land in front of the man. She was wearing a black cloak over loose black pants and a tight black shirt, all of which were soaking, although she didn't seem to mind the rain. She was pretty, with blond hair and blue eyes, but you would never think of her in a dumb blond type of way. Her face, although pretty, was sharp and cold, and her ice blue eyes were hard and unyielding. She had holstered the gun they had seen in her hand and instead now held a knife in each hand. She spoke like she was native to a foreign country, with just a hint of an accent on her tongue, which helped her voice sound slightly like a hiss, threatening.

"My name is Zilya. Zilya Lukova. I am a Cahill, daughter of Madeline Cahill the ninth. I am a breeder of cats, the Russian blue mostly, and a trainer of cats. I would also consider myself an amateur feline veterinarian and," at this she gave a catlike grin. "A Lucian. Which means, you should take nothing I say for granted and prepare for betrayal."

With that, Zilya sprang. First at the man in front. He was extraordinarily strong, that was certain, but she was fast and agile. He went down with three blows, one to his stomach and two to his head. Behind him, the other guards aimed their weapons, focusing on this new threat. By the time they were ready to fire, it was too late. For them. She vaulted back onto the roof, effortlessly coming down behind the line of guards. She appeared to just touch one of them on the back of his neck, and he crumpled to the ground. The other men spun to face her, which didn't make any difference. She was obviously spectacularly trained. She whirled through their bodies like an obstacle course, and a moment after she had finished weaving around the last one, she turned and looked back. Like a row of dominoes, all of the men fell behind her.

Amy and Dan stared, wide eyed, at their savior. She looked about seventeen years of age, now that they could see her more clearly, and she immediately turned to them. Dan spoke first.

"How did you take them all out, just like that?"

The girl's lips curved slightly upwards in a feline grin. "Training. Rigorous training. From the time I was three up till now." She spoke with a slight accent, which, now that they heard it clearly, sounded distinctly Russian.

"Who are you? Really?" Amy asked. "I doubt Zilya is your real name." The girl's smile dissipated.

"I assure you, I am Zilya. Zilya Lukova Spaskaya. And we have much to discuss if you are going to survive tonight. You have only a few choices, and if you do not choose correctly, it may prove fatal."


	2. Chapter 2: Death is a matter of opinion

I am so sorry! I really haven't been able to update, and this chapter is really short, so I haven't really fulfilled either of my promises. In my defense, reviews always prompt me to write more faster, so... if someone reviews, I promise to update more frequently.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Natasha and Clint stared at each other, shock written all over their faces. Clearly this was far more complicated than either of them had expected. They knew one thing for certain now; they couldn't kill these children. They had to help.

"So, Katya," Clint ventured. "You could come with us to SHEILD. I am certain that we could help you." He was so not expecting the vehemence that her response held.

"Never! I would rather die!" Katya yelled. She leapt up, the hem of her long dress brushing the ground. "You want me to kill for you! And betray my sisters, bringing them in to you! And then what! What would be waiting for me! Did you think I could fight? Did you think I could leap across rooftops with the greatest of ease, run faster than average, have enhanced reactions, healing?" she paused. "Well. I do. But only thanks to Irina. So I could never repay her that debt. She allowed me the power to create my own destiny and not have it set in stone for me! That is not the sort of debt that could be repaid in a hundred years, or even a million!"

"Why do you say that?" Clint asked, curious. Katya opened and closed her mouth, considering.

"She saved my life."

"And that's enough to get you this worked up?" Clint asked.

"Does this have anything to do with the grievously wounded you mentioned earlier?" Natasha quietly spoke up, having to concentrate to prevent the memories from rising up in her mind. Again, Katya looked like she was about to respond differently, but sighed and muttered a Russian curse under her breath.

"Stupid vow of truth. I ought to well, certainly not crippled. Possibly temporarily affected by. No normal person would regain full use of their ankle after an experience like that. Not even with medical care, which Irina offered but I refused. And, you really should probably go now."

"I am sorry, but we need to take you with us," Natasha said carefully, not really wanting to bring on another bout of vehemence. "You are likely in danger from the Red Room."

Again, the humorless laugh. "You seriously think I do not know that. My ankle certainly hasn't prevented me from being perfectly capable of fighting any who have come for us. Separately we fight impressively, together we fight nearly inhumanly," she spoke in a flat tone. "Also, we have managed to evade the Red Room for upwards of one year before this day. We need no help. We trust none but each other."

Clint and Natasha exchanged a look. She was being almost too cooperative as far as her questions went, so they were naturally suspicious. Natasha began to speak. "Can we start by asking you some simple questions?" She asked, not wanting to seem a threat but wanting to get some things straightened out. Katya tersely nodded. "How old are you?"

"Eleven," Katya responded, her voice neutral. Catching their shared shocked glances, she added, "Did you automatically assume I was older or were you given faulty information. You certainly are not the first to comment on my age, believe me." Clint took a deep breath.

"Okay. I assume you are native to Russia?"

"Da," she responded flatly.

"How old were you when they took you?" Natasha questioned.

"We-I was four," she responded, obviously hiding something.

"Who else? Why would you say we?" Clint asked. Again, Katya shifted in her seat, looking nervous, when suddenly, she stilled, and her eyes jumped to something behind both master assassins. She seemed to relax, and said neutrally,

"You do not need to know that. Believe me, you do not want to know that. And I did warn you to leave when you had a chance. I offered. And you really should have."

A moment later, a cold, Russian accented voice rang out from behind them. "Turn around slowly, and I may yet spare your lives, if you can prove that you have not hurt Katya. Otherwise, I will murder you and then allow my cats to eat your innards."

So, I may or may not have them go to shield. Review with your opinion. Also, if people want to see the red room in the next few chapters for some action, review with that opinion, too. I would welcome any ideas, even though I have a pretty good idea where I want this story to go.

-LethalCrown


End file.
